


The Sweetness of Leather

by Mirror_Face



Category: Original Work
Genre: Not organized in order, POV First Person, POV Second Person, POV Third Person, Poetry, Tags May Change, poetry collection, quality not guaranteed
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-12-29
Updated: 2021-03-01
Packaged: 2021-03-11 01:28:14
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 10
Words: 954
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28396920
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mirror_Face/pseuds/Mirror_Face
Summary: My personal collection of poetry. I've only been doing this for a few years, so quality is absolutely not guaranteed- this is just stuff that have been slowly dusting away in my archives.Good luck, soldier.
Comments: 2
Kudos: 5





	1. I swear it can be sweet

**Author's Note:**

> These poems are all out of order. I only have vague dates as to when they were actually written because most of these were not archived into google docs as soon as they were written. A lot have messy physical copies and some poems only exist on a random AllPoetry account (which I own, by the way, so if you see these poems there it's because it's my account).
> 
> I wish you luck.

I told them about devotion,

about love,

about something sweeter than the bitterness of leather.

And they said,

"if you truly love me,

eat my shoe."

So I look up,

without question,

deep into their eyes.

I do.

(i don't know what i expected)


	2. Of Small-Minded Crows

"mister fox?" the girl inquired

curiosity peaked and daunting

"what is it you like to eat?"

the fox sniffed, miffed by such pointless questions

"just crows" He said

all tired and unassuming.

"what type of crows?"

she'd asked

for curiosity had struck again.

"black crows" He'd answered

"all oily and dark-

I love it when they squawk."

the next day, she was back again

all wondering wondering wondering.

"what is it you like to eat?"

"blue crows" He'd snapped

so distracted by her green tinted eyes

that seemed to make His hunger pangs bellow.

"but yesterday, you said black crows were your favorite"

her eyes widened slightly

and the edge of her grin titled in concern.

"oh" was all He could say,

distracted and all.

the day after that

she'd stopped by and questioned

"what is it you like to eat? i fear you're not honest."

and He'd growled and snapped

"yellow crows!" He'd shouted

"bright and colorful, I hear!"

the girl shifted on her feet, nervous

"but mister fox, i thought that b-"

He gobbled her whole before she could correct Him again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one was written around 5 months ago.


	3. of something loved

there's something odd about the way you dig up pomegranate seeds

slow and careful-like

despite how tightly your fingers clutch them

reddish-purple blood dripping from their rumpled flesh.

it's sweet, i think,

how you pick out their dirt with just your fingers

like they mean something more than

old remnants of a life-to-be.

your hands seem stained with burdens

a dull violet color that makes me question why you keep them

even when you dye everything you touch

and lose the innocence of holding white-colored roses.

there's something odd about the way you hold those pomegranate seeds

like you'd do anything-

sacrifice all to protect them

even when you crush them so.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Written a month ago.


	4. Bird ate the seed

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I write a lot about birds.

Inside the eye of the daffodil flower

bird takes a peck of seed

wings stretched, beak curved.

He asks himself

"love me? love me not?"

and he eats another seed.

"love me not?"

the bird pecks

"love me?"

squacks the bird.

By the end of the day

once the sun sets

the flower's eye is empty.

But, the bird, oh the bird

despite painstaking efforts

he's forgotten the answer.

(love me?

love me not?)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was written 4 months ago.


	5. Simpleton Brain

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Otherwise known as empty authority.

The raven snaps its beak,

all royal-like,

and flaps the air as it demands control.

"Objection!" it decrees to the court,

a string dangling from its midsection.

They look up,

and it squawks cockily,

"Do you really believe that this menace should go free?"

They look to me,

numb in my chair,

watching that string dangling above.

No one can deny what the raven wants.

The judge bangs on his pedestal high above,

shouting out in his grimy voice,

"Zero to twelve, the jury's voted, the prisoner shall be sentenced to d-"

In a fit of panic, I pull the raven's string,

yank it hard and heartily.

It unravels.

And inside there is

pure nothing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was written 8 months ago.


	6. Dead Man’s Longing

“The snake ate the rat,

But then the snake died,

And how happy the rat cried, leaping in its victory,

Where he will never die.”

“That’s a lie!”

Cried the child (really a ghoul in disguise),

“How could the rat live, if it has already died?”

“Well”, said the man, dead,

“It seems that when your heart stops beating,

And your lungs won’t start breathing,

You refuse to accept that the dead will stay dead,

“Because, you’ll realize, it’s sad when such a grand story ends.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wrote this a year ago, and this is as probably as far as I’ll go into my archives because everything before this is just plain bad. Not that this one is particularly good.


	7. Don’t Give In

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sometimes, tentative things are harder to do than hard things.

Spindly fingers

they cross the lines the leaves sew lightly

'pon the dirt, the mud, the pebbles.

Black stains underneath my nails

hard to get out and soiling my reputation

as one of high standards.

Dig, I do

dig, I try

muddy clumps clinging to my shoes.

Do, so I dig

try, so I dig

nothing but the rain in the quiet of noon.

Looking for something special

perhaps underneath the earth or further

down down down.

Dig more

dig harder.

I do.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> -This was written 4 months ago


	8. Pull Me Back From Tomorrow's Fears

Push me into yesterday,

from which the ocean is shining hues,

and I can hear the day's winds calling.

My dreams, they strum,

such magnificent sounds,

that can be heard through the colors, though now muted 

and gray.

Save me,

from sudden fears,

that attack me like rabid dogs.

"Save me"

I'll call to the mountain peak,

though I know I won't be answered.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another somewhat decent older one, dating back around a year and a half ago.


	9. newton

Gravity brushes back against my fingers

and I shout a cry over the edge

crumbling ground sliding beneath my soles.

I fall

like an apple in the autumn

deep red inside their eyes.

Waves crash and roll somewhere underneath me

somewhere far below

and how, oh how, I don't want to go.

Not when the ocean's crashing

and the wind tries so hard to stop me

from dropping off the steep.

My fingers flushed red with cold

my ears numb and stinging

I fall.

And I cannot help but notice

that there are no clouds above

to see what the waves will do.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh look, an actual date for once. This was written on January 20th, 2021. You can tell it's recent. Probably. Maybe.


	10. we both know the answer

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Double update day.
> 
> Also, more birds. Because, birds are my go-to thing, I guess.

comb back feathers,

spit fire on the back of your tongue.

back, bird, back-

oh stray from the seed.

oh bird, look at me,

please just look at me.

heartbreak touches your roguish eyes,

when i ask the question, when i say the words.

i wish you could stay- would stay,

despite the coming storm.

i wish,

even if you refuse to entertain my wants.

oh bird, don't fly,

don't leave.

but you know the truth,

i asked the question.

(will you stay,

even if i cannot feed you?)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Written on Oct. 2nd, 2020

**Author's Note:**

> This poem is what the poetry collection's title is based on. It was written around two months ago.
> 
> Don't mind the length, I prefer short poems.


End file.
